Maybe it starts when we’re trapped in the womb for nine months. We consider confinement normal. If we’re not enclosed in something either literally or figuratively, we’re out of sorts.
Think about it, have you ever gone outside in the middle of the night, laid on the ground and gone to sleep? Without a blanket to wrap yourself in, a tent to crawl into or anything else? Even the homeless seek out boxes and the underpasses of bridges. Practically no one ever sleeps well and truly “uncovered.”
We live in varying sizes of boxes, we travel in boxes, work in boxes. Even when we die, more often than not we’re put into yet another box.
The ironic thing is that although most of us upon only momentary reflection would find no reason to argue that our physical state is constantly shielded by and utilizes various configurations of confinement, those very same people would fly into a rage if told that in all probability this comfort in confinement is more likely than not also a condition of our minds. After all how many of us really think outside the box? We don’t live outside of it, so isn’t it a leap in logic to think we’re even capable of truly thinking outside of it? Why do we think that mentally somehow we are liberated from the comfort of confinement? In our thoughts and deeds do we not cling to the well defined boundaries of morality, societal norms, learned traditions (both good and bad), religion, and the like? Are these boundaries any less capable of containing us than the physical ones we build all around us?